More
by r4ven3
Summary: This is an 8 chapter sequel to "Miles Apart". Set from early in 5.04, and ending mid to late 5.05, this story weaves around the canon, occasionally veering off into its own universe. Told chiefly from Ruth's POV, what happens when Harry wants more?
1. Chapter 1

_**A/N: And I acknowledge that Sparky75's suggestion of `more' has prompted this whole fic.**_

* * *

**~ The Second Date ~**

"I like the restaurant," Ruth says, more out of a need to say something, than to pass judgement on Harry's choice of restaurant for their second date. For the past three minutes, Harry has been grinning across the table at her, like her being here with him has something to do with him.

Well, were he not here, nor would she be, but their being there together is not all down to him. Ruth is here – with Harry Pearce, her boss, and perhaps soon to be something more – not because of him, but because she saw the light.

Literally.

She'd phoned him, begged him to visit her, so that she could tell him she'd been too scared to go out with him again due to something which had happened in her past. As a result, Ruth has always believed that anything good happening in her personal life will always be balanced by the loss – or damage to – those she most cares about, and rather than having something dreadful happen to Harry, she had kept him at arm's length. Rather than think of her as a silly child, he'd been understanding, caring, solicitous, and altogether perfect. He'd even kissed her before he left her house, and if that kiss is an indicator of what is to come, Ruth will be lining up for more. She just hopes Harry enjoyed kissing her as much as she'd enjoyed the kiss. Even half as much would do the trick.

Harry is altogether different from all the other men she's dated. Mostly, it had been _her_ kicking _them_ out of her house, because they'd have had one drink too many, and would have tried it on before she was sure whether she even wanted to see them again. Last night, Harry had left because it was the right thing to do, and besides, they have tonight, and hopefully many more nights to be spending together.

"I thought that since we're beginning again, we should begin somewhere new," he says, his eyes watching her as she looks around the restaurant.

"The other place was nice," she replies. "Elegant."

"You don't like this place?" The crease between his eyebrows deepens slightly with worry. _Ernest's_ is all wooden beams and dark red tablecloths. Perhaps it's too gothic for Ruth's tastes. Harry thinks it's intimate.

"No, I love it. I was just saying …... we shouldn't remember our first date as a failure. Think of it more as a …..."

"A trial run."

Ruth smiles into his eyes, and she feels warm all over. He really is quite lovely. From the moment he'd picked her up at her place, he has been gentle and rather quiet, and he has been watching her, like she is some precious possession which may disappear into thin air were he to look away, even for a moment.

Harry watches Ruth, and Ruth smiles. So far, so good.

"I have a confession to make," he says, after the wine waiter has poured them each a glass of wine – white burgundy. Harry had not had to ask Ruth her preference for the wine they'll drink with dinner. He already knew what her answer would be. "Today, I spoke to Malcolm."

"You speak to Malcolm most days, Harry. What was different about today?"

Harry takes his hand from his wine glass, and folds his hands on the table in front of him. He then takes a breath, and then looks across the table into Ruth's eyes.

"I spoke to him …... about us."

"But -"

Harry lifts his hand, and Ruth stops, her mouth still open.

"Let me finish, Ruth, and then you can give me a bollocking, if you still think I deserve it ….. but please hear me out." When Ruth nods, he continues. "My aim in speaking to him was to let him know that we're still planning to …... see one another outside work, and that we don't need scrutiny, or judgement – of any kind – from those we work with. I asked him to convey to the others that we wish to be left alone."

"How did he take it?"

"Fine. He was …... he was happy for us, Ruth. He shook my hand. I suspect he thinks that I'm lucky you'd even look at me twice, let alone have dinner with me twice."

"I'm hoping we can do this more than twice, Harry."

He looks across the table at her, and sighs heavily. She really is very lovely, and he _is_ a lucky man, despite their poor start. He nods. "I'm hoping we can be doing this long into the future."

There. He's said it, and she's still sitting there, across from him, but she appears wary.

"What's wrong, Ruth? Are you surprised I said that?"

She nods, turning her napkin around between her fingers, a gesture he knows conveys anxiety. "How can you know that, Harry?"

"I just do. We get on well, you and I, and we …... things between us can only become more …."

"More?"

"Yes. More …... well, you know what I'm trying to say, don't you, Ruth?"

"You want to keep seeing me. Is that what you're saying?"

"Yes, that's what I'm saying."

Ruth looks away from Harry's eyes, which seem to see right into her. She is excited, happy, overjoyed by what he is saying, but surely he can't mean it. Can he? Ruth knows that she over-thinks everything. Before Harry had arrived that evening to take her to dinner, she had decided that she would enjoy herself - enjoy him - and allow herself to be wooed by him, because she has a feeling it might be rather nice to be wooed by Harry.

When their main course arrives, conversation slows. But not for long.

"I've been thinking," he says, while they wait for their sweets to arrive. "I came on a bit strong last time we had dinner. I've had to re-think the Grand Tour. I think we should begin with a mini-break in Paris."

"You were asking_ me_?"

"I wasn't asking exactly, but perhaps I was testing you, to see how you'd react."

"And how was it I reacted?"

"Guarded. You pretended ignorance, like I was vetting women to see who I might like to take with me."

"That's how it sounded to me, Harry."

He lifts one eyebrow over his glass of white burgundy. "That would hardly be smooth of me …... to give a woman the impression I _might_ take her on a big trip to the cities of Europe, but first I have to interview another thirty women."

Ruth hesitates. She can feign shyness …... or total ignorance, or she can enter into the spirit of the conversation, (which, to Ruth's mind, is entering Salvador Dali territory). This is Harry, and she trusts him.

"_Thirty_ women? Do you even know thirty women well enough to take away to Paris?"

"Not really. In my life, as of this moment, I know around twenty women who work for the security services. And I know you. You're the only woman I would like to know better."

"What you're saying, Harry, is that I'm the only one you'd like to know intimately."

This time it is Harry who looks surprised, and even a little uncomfortable. "Ye-es. That's what I'm saying, Ruth. But this isn't even about sex for me. It's about so much more."

"There's that word again."

"What word?"

"More," Ruth says quietly. "You used that word before our main course arrived. You said you wanted more with me."

"And I do, and that includes physical intimacy, but I don't want us to jump into that. If you want us to wait, I'll wait. I happen to think you're worth it."

Ruth hadn't expected that. She'd been sitting across from Harry, admiring him from afar, imagining what it would feel like to have his lips on hers, his tongue searching inside her mouth. She'd then travelled further inside her imagination, feeling his lips on the tender skin beneath her ear. He would then run his tongue between her breasts, while with his beautiful hands, he'd …...

And then he said that he's prepared to give them time before they become physically intimate. The words have left her mouth before she has time to consider whether they'd be better left unsaid.

"What if I don't want to wait? What if …... I want us to sleep together …... rather soon?"

Now it's Harry's turn to be shocked. He sits, his hand on the table, his fingers about to drum a quiet rhythm on the tablecloth. He stares at Ruth, and then blinks.

"Did I hear you say that you want us to _sleep_ together?"

"Yes. What are we waiting for? I'm not suggesting tonight. I think tonight might be too soon, but Harry, I have been out with other men before you, and when a man says that he doesn't want to have sex with me until sometime in the future, and that he can wait …... well, I recognise the desperation behind that suggestion, and your hoping I'll take pity on you. I don't want to wait any more than you do. If I'm being honest, I think we might be rather good together ... like that."

Harry is breathing rather heavily, holding in his emotional reaction to what Ruth has been saying. He is also having to suppress some rather graphic images which have suddenly popped into his head, images of them both ….. together. What a strange – and wonderful – night this has become. And all this out of his suggestion that they travel to Paris together. He swallows before he replies.

"I think we might be too, Ruth. Good together. I'd like us to spend a few nights in Paris. I'd like to do that soon …... before the summer is over …... after the African summit at Havensworth."

He looks up at her, and her eyes are shining.

"I'd like that," she says. "And if I ever come to you and say I can't go with you …... for any reason at all …... then don't accept no for an answer from me, because right now …... right now, I'm already looking forward to it."

Harry nods. "A mini break, Ruth. Just you and me, in Paris. I'll book it tomorrow. Havensworth begins in three days, so it will have to be after that."

"Two weeks from this weekend, Harry. Surely by then we'll be …..."

"Comfortable with one another?"

Ruth nods, looking down at her hands. Hopefully by then she'll be able to look Harry in the eye without looking away.

* * *

Neither wants the night to end. Harry walks her to her door, and when she suggests he come inside for a cup of tea, he hesitates.

"We have work tomorrow, Ruth."

"We'll always have work tomorrow. I'm not suggesting you stay, Harry. I just …... don't want you to go home yet."

"I don't want to go home, either," he says quietly, leaning towards her, his breath tickling her ear.

He smells so wonderful – his spicy, masculine smell – that Ruth turns towards her door, and opens it, before he changes his mind.

They sit at Ruth's kitchen table over a pot of Irish Breakfast. Harry has taken off his jacket, and he sits across from her in an open necked burgundy coloured shirt, with his sleeves rolled to just below his elbows. Ruth can't take her eyes from his bare forearms. What was she thinking when she turned him down? Sometimes – and she knows this about herself – she can be completely and utterly irrational, and for an intelligence analyst, that tendency is neither healthy, nor congruent with her job requirements.

Seeing Harry get to his feet, and take their cups to the sink for rinsing, Ruth gets up quietly, and stands close beside him, watching as he performs the simple, everyday domestic ritual. When he has placed both cups on the dish drainer, he wipes his hands on a towel, then he turns to her, and slides both his arms around her, drawing her closer to him, their bodies fitting together from chests to knees. From underneath his shirt, Ruth feels his heartbeat, rapid as a bird's. He reaches down to kiss her.

This is not a chaste, goodnight kiss, like the one they'd shared the evening before. This is open-mouthed, tongues touching, breathing ragged, hands searching for bare skin. Ruth's hands slide around his neck, her fingertips softly caressing the skin at the back of his neck.

When they come up for air, his eyes are shining. Each watch the other, wordlessly. Ruth reaches up this time, and his mouth again meets hers. This time their kiss is hungrier, deeper, and their hands move over the body of the other. Harry's thumb glances repeatedly across her breast, while one of her hands seeks the skin between the buttons of his shirt. By the time this kiss ends, Ruth has opened three of his shirt buttons, and is humming to herself, as she caresses the skin of his chest, while Harry buries his face in her neck, and kisses her skin from chin to the cleft of her breasts.

They pull apart when it is clear they are both aroused. No man has elicited this kind of response in her. It is Harry's idea that they wait, and so she has to respect that. Were it up to her, they'd already be half way up the stairs.

Harry has stepped away from her, so that their hands still rest on the other's waist, but their bodies are apart.

"I'm sorry, Ruth. I -"

"Please don't apologise for …..."

"For desiring you quite a lot."

"I know you're turned on, but so am I. Had you not stepped away, I might have …..."

"What, Ruth?" Harry dips his head to plant a soft kiss on her forehead.

"Dragged you upstairs."

Harry chuckles quietly

"That was nice," she says, allowing herself to lean into him, her hands resting on his waist.

Harry nods, a silly grin on his face. "More than," he says.

"So, we're already experiencing more," Ruth replies. "I like your idea of more."

"I knew you would."

"I'm already looking forward to Paris."

Against the drives of his body, Harry steps away from her, to gather his jacket from the back of the chair on which he'd sat to drink his tea.

They kiss again at the door, but this time the kiss is gentle, rather than passionate. Harry is about to step through the doorway, when he turns back towards Ruth, and kisses her again.

"I hate leaving you," he says against her mouth, and then he turns and walks purposefully down the path to the gate, before turning back to look at her.

Seeing him turn towards her, Ruth blows him a kiss. As Harry gets into his car, Ruth still watches him. The next time she sees him, they will be at work, and kissing will be out of the question. As Ruth closes the door, she thinks how cruel life can sometimes be.


	2. Chapter 2

_**A/N: I've messed with time lines a little ...**_

* * *

**~ Havensworth Eve ~**

It is Thursday evening, the night before the Africa conference at the Havensworth Hotel, and Ruth is sitting at home, trying to generate interest in anything at all on the telly, when she hears her front doorbell. Her only likely visitor is Harry, so she approaches the door with a smile already in place.

Harry gives her a quick kiss before she indicates he should head to the living room.

"Wine, coffee or tea?" Ruth asks his departing back.

"Wine would be nice," he says, stopping at the door to the living room to turn towards her and offer her a weary smile. Poor, tired man. Beginning tomorrow, he'll be spending four days at the conference, and at the end of it he'll be coming home exhausted. Ruth is relieved to be covering the conference from the Grid.

Ruth places their glasses of wine on the coffee table in front of them before sitting next to Harry on the sofa, close enough so that their thighs touch. Harry reaches for his glass, and takes a healthy swig of the wine.

"Nice," he says. "Almost nice enough to wipe my memory of the Foreign Secretary's little speech about how important the Africa Summit will be, regardless of the backpeddling by the French and Americans, and how its success or otherwise is now down to MI5. Patronising prat."

Ruth cautiously places her palm on Harry's thigh, her attempt to comfort him. She knows he is more stressed and tired than he is angry. "You have the best team there is, Harry, and with Adam in charge, everything will run smoothly. The only likely trouble would be were there an assassin in the ranks of the African delegates, but Adam will flush that out ….. if it's there to be flushed out."

"Speaking of Adam, I took Wes out on Sunday afternoon. It was just to the park down the end of the block. I try to see him each month. I think it's …..."

"It's wonderful of you, Harry," Ruth says, squeezing his thigh with her hand.

"I think it's important that he has some …... continuity in his life. Wes mentioned Adam and Jenny sleeping in the same room, and in the same bed."

"Jenny?"

"His babysitter. He asked me did I think his dad and Jenny would get married."

"Poor kid. He shouldn't have to contend with that, on top of Fiona's death. What did you say?"

"What could I say? I just said that I thought his dad was sad and missed his mum, and that Jenny was probably comforting him." Harry lifts one side of his mouth in a facial shrug.

Ruth puts her glass of wine back on the table, and reaches across to take Harry's face in her hands.

"You're an amazing man. Do you know that?" she says, before she draws his face to hers, and there begins a snog and a half.

Within a few minutes they are stretched out on the sofa, Ruth on the bottom, her back and shoulders resting against the pile of cushions at one end of the sofa. Harry lies half over her, and half on the sofa beside her. It is the most intimate they have been with one another. Their kisses soon become heavy, and their hands begin exploring the skin of the other. Ruth has pulled Harry's shirt from his trousers, and has slid both hands underneath the fabric, so that her palms glide across the bare skin of his back. Harry has inched one of his hands underneath Ruth's jumper, and his fingers are already inside her bra. When Ruth moans as he kisses her, Harry pulls away, and sits up.

"We shouldn't," he says. "It's not right."

Reluctant as she is for them to be stopping, Ruth knows he's right. He reaches out to take her hand, and helps her into an upright position, before he hands her her glass of wine. Ruth notices a slight tremor in his hands, and the tenting in the front of his trousers. Self control can be _so_ overrated.

"Alcohol is hardly a substitute for sex," she says, her eyes challenging him.

"I don't know about that," he replies. "It's been my substitute for sex for years now."

Ruth doesn't know how to reply to that. On the one hand, it tells her than Harry may have been celibate for a while, perhaps years, and on the other hand, it is rather sad. She reaches out to grasp his hand in hers, and brings their hands to rest on his thigh.

"Around two and a half years," he says, watching her closely. "Two and a half years since I've …... you know."

"That's a long time, Harry. Why is that?"

He is still watching her, wondering how much he should tell her.

"It's not been for lack of opportunity. It's more to do with …... my realisation that sex should mean something, and if it doesn't, then it diminishes, rather than enhances."

_Cryptic as ever_, Ruth thinks. "So …... when was your last relationship? I mean relationship, not just a sexual encounter."

"Is this twenty questions, Ruth?"

"I'm curious. We are entering into a relationship, and I think I need to know."

"The last time I had sex was a particularly unpleasant encounter with someone I picked up at a bar and took home, only for her husband to arrive home early, just as I was about to leave."

"That's such a cliché, Harry."

"I know. It was awful, but it taught me to stop doing that, and to expect more, not only _of_ myself, but _for_ myself. It was only a few months later that I first noticed you, and I mean _really_ noticed you. I was sure you'd never look twice at me, so I kept my distance, and got on with the job at hand. My last relationship was with a woman called Maryanne. We saw one another for around five months. That was around seven ….. no, eight years ago. My …... relationship past is strewn with angry women who want to hurt me."

"Did you hurt them?"

Harry sighs heavily, and begins rubbing his thumb back and forth along the back of Ruth's hand. Their eyes are drawn to their hands, and they watch while her hand receives the tender touch of his thumb.

"I suppose I did," he says at last. "I didn't …... value them enough. I certainly didn't love them. Looking at it now, I used them."

Ruth is aware that it has taken a lot for Harry to open up to her in this way. He is tired, has visited her so that she can comfort him, and now she's giving him the third degree, about of all things, his past relationships. Harry so rarely talks about himself. She can't ask him anything else. She hasn't yet earned the right to know. They sit in silence for some time, and Harry still caresses her skin with his thumb.

"I don't think Adam cares for Jenny," Harry says after some time. "It's just sex. It's clear he just wants her …... for her body."

Ruth looks up at him, an unspoken question on her lips.

"We will never be just about sex, Ruth. That's one of the reasons I want to wait. I need to prove to you …..."

"That we are not about to be a casual fling?"

He nods. His thumb is still, but rests against the back of her own thumb. Ruth waits for his answer, watching their hands resting on his thigh.

"We …... or at least, I …... care for you …... a lot."

"Me too," Ruth replies quietly, looking up at last into his eyes, which are dark and intense. "I care for you …... more than is comfortable for me."

"What does that mean, Ruth?"

"You know what it means."

He does, of course. He knows exactly what she means. Ruth is smarter than he, and won't be drawn into sharing her most private thoughts and feelings until she is ready. Until she feels safe …... and secure …... with him.

"Ruth," he says, turning towards her. Since they began talking relationships, they have both left their wine untouched. "I'd like to hold you, if I may."

Ruth turns to him, sliding close to him until their thighs are pressed against the other. As she leans towards him, he wraps his arms around her, and pulls her against his chest. Ruth is sure she will never again feel cold. They stay that way – his arms around her shoulders, and her arms around his waist – until they are almost asleep. When Ruth feels Harry's body jolt as he snores himself awake, she turns to him, pulling away a little.

"You're welcome to sleep here tonight, Harry. It's too late for you to be driving home. I'd like to spend the night with you …... to sleep."

"Just to sleep?"

"Only sleep, Harry. I'm not sure you're capable of anything more. Not tonight, anyway. Although ….. I'm sure you are …... at other times."

Harry nods.

Ruth shows him to her bedroom, and then the bathroom just down the hall. By the time she is ready to turn in, Harry is in bed, and appears to be asleep. While in the bathroom, she changes into her pyjamas and dressing gown. As she slides under the duvet, Harry stirs and opens his eyes, watching her as she buries herself underneath the covers.

"Come here," he says, and she shuffles close enough for him to kiss her goodnight. He really is very tired. "I've set my alarm, and if I'm gone when you get up, it's because I have to go home to shower and change, then to the Grid, and then …..."

"Off to Havensworth."

"Yes. Are you sure you're not coming?"

"I'm sure, Harry. I'll be far more use assisting Malcolm on the Grid."

"I'll miss you," he says quietly.

"And I'll miss you, but it can't be helped. It's only four days."

"An eternity."

Harry smiles, and Ruth kisses him again, before she turns out the light.

* * *

It is still dark when Ruth wakes. It is the sound of her toilet flushing which has woken her. She lies still, giving her eyes a chance to adapt to the dark, so that by the time Harry re-enters the bedroom, she can see he is wearing only a pair of dark-coloured trunks – possibly navy blue or black. She is about to ask him if he's cold, when she notices that he is partly erect …. perhaps a third the way there. She stares at his body in fascination, feeling her own body responding to him, to the possibility that some time in the near future, they will lie naked beside one another, preparing to make love. Ruth shudders a little at the thought.

To Ruth, Harry is a very sexy man, and she looks forward to when he feels comfortable enough to become intimate with her. Although his story about needing to prove to her that he is serious about her is no doubt true, she doesn't fully buy it. She believes that Harry is shy about his body, his attractiveness to her, and that perhaps he believes that he is out of practice. She is quite willing to prove him wrong.

When he is dressed, Harry leans over her to kiss her, and then sees that her eyes are open.

"You've been watching me," he says quietly, hovering over her.

"Yes. I ….. like what I see."

"I'll ring you tonight," he says, before he leans down to kiss her on the lips. "I'll miss you," he says, before kissing her again, this time a lingering kiss.

Harry is about to step through the doorway, when he stops, and turns. "I forgot to tell you," he says, "I've booked our mini break in Paris. Six days, in two weeks time. We both have leave owing, so taking time off shouldn't pose any problems."

And then he is gone, and she's still trying to get her head around how they can possibly take six days – far more than a mini break, and more like a holiday - off from work, _together._ Of course people will talk, and imagine she and Harry engaging in acts of intimacy together. Ruth decides that the embarrassment which she had once believed would cripple her, need be nothing more than momentary discomfort. People are going to talk about them, no matter what they do.

Ruth snuggles back down into the bed, and thinks of Harry while she drifts off to sleep. For the first time, it hits her that Harry is serious about her - very serious - and that where they are going together – towards a proper relationship – will be equally as serious. Harry is not some boy who will be happy just to be her plaything. Harry is a man, a proper man.

It is then, just before she falls asleep, that Ruth feels a coil of fear in her belly. She tries to understand it, but she is asleep before the fear has a chance to speak to her, painting a clear picture of what it is she needs to know.


	3. Chapter 3

_**A/N: There is a line of dialogue in this chapter which is not mine, but belongs to Kudos.**_

* * *

**~ Havensworth ~**

Some time between leaving Ruth's house, and arriving at the hotel in Berkshire, Harry experiences a major fit of the yips.

He can't be doing this – bringing a tender and caring young woman into his very messy life. It just isn't fair on her. Of course, her wanting him as she does is an added complication. Were she merely keen on him, or her feeling for him little more than infatuation, then ending it would be easy. By the time Harry parks his car in the car park behind Havensworth Hotel – the one reserved for staff – he has an idea.

Ending it with her is out of the question. He is in love with her, and if his instincts are correct, she also loves him. It's just that were he to allow Ruth even closer than she is to him right now, she might simply bolt when she realises how selfish he can be. He is not an easy man for a woman to be with. He's been told that by every woman with whom he has been in a relationship, beginning with his ex-wife. He does not bend, he does not mold his life around his partners. He is not skilled at creating an equal pairing with another. He is always Harry, and the woman in his life has to fit in. Given he has not ever made a place in his life for any of his partners, he and Ruth are beginning well behind the 8 ball. That leaves him with no option. He must have Ruth with him during this conference. He must begin to make a place for her in his life, beginning today. He will invent some excuse so that she will have no option other than to be here.

By the time he has checked into his room, and unpacked his bag, Harry's idea is beginning to take shape. They work so well together. It is at work that they fell in love, so surely it will be at work that their love can be strengthened. He knows his own argument is deeply flawed, but he hasn't the luxury of time to consider it for too long.

It is when he is downstairs, and has seen the state of the planning for the security detail for the conference that Harry has a meltdown. He opens his phone, and presses the call icon next to a name.

"Ros!" he barks, temporarily forgetting her legend, "I need you to make a call for me."

* * *

Ruth has been at work less than an hour when she receives a phone call from Ros Myers at Havensworth.

"I'm afraid we need you here, Ruth."

"I can't, Ros. I can handle analysis better from here, where we have everything set up. Malcolm and I -"

"Look, I don't profess to understand everything which happens in Section D, but I know a panicking man when I see one, and Harry is panicking."

"So, why isn't it _he_ ringing me?"

"God only knows. He told me to ring you, and tell you a car will be picking you up from Thames House at noon. You'll be driven home to pack, and then you'll be driven here. Were it me, I'd not be complaining. I had to drive myself here."

"Alright," Ruth says, sensing defeat, "I'll be ready."

"That's good," Ros says. "I'd hate to have to send around Special Branch to apply the thumbscrews. Harry is serious about this."

_He certainly is_, thinks Ruth.

As she packs up her desk, and heads to Malcolm and Jo to fill them in on the latest development, Ruth can't help but wonder if Harry is simply missing her, and wants her closer to him for the duration of the conference. If so, why didn't he ring her himself, and say so?

* * *

Ruth has only just entered the hotel, when Harry walks across the lobby to meet her. They are awkward with one another, each conscious of the CCTV cameras all around them, and that members of their own section will be watching every move they make. Ruth remembers that Malcolm is rather skilled at lip-reading, so every word she and Harry speak can be read …... so she keeps her head down. Harry seems a little embarrassed, and when he hands her the key to her room, mentioning that it is `your own room', their eyes slide over one another, as they remember the sweetness of sharing Ruth's bed the night before, and how completely natural had been their sleeping together. They are both relieved when Harry's phone rings, and he has to take the call.

Ruth's day is full, as she sets up a centre of operations in one of the ground floor lounges. Mostly she works alone, but with frequent interruptions from Adam and Harry. Ros – as Debra Soames – swans in and out of the room occasionally, one eyebrow lifted at Ruth sardonically. Ruth can't think why, but whenever Ros leaves the operations room, she is reminded more and more of Lady Macbeth.

By the end of the first day, Ruth retires to her room. She and Harry have maintained a professional distance from one another, and as difficult as this is, Ruth knows it's for the best. So, when she leaves her room a little after 11 to investigate the loud music coming from another room in the same corridor, she is surprised to see Harry – in shirt sleeves, top few buttons undone – approaching from the other end of the corridor. They exchange a few words about the music, and after the event, Ruth remembers little of what is said. His face says so much more than words could ever convey, as he steps close to her, his expression one of longing. If she's being honest, his longing for her is reciprocated. All she should have said to him was `CCTV cameras', and the misunderstanding could have been avoided. When she says a brisk goodnight, and scuttles back into her room, she knows that she has left him hurt and confused.

So when, 10 minutes later, there is a quiet knock on her door, she knows it is he. She opens the door, and quickly shows him in.

"Do you have your phone with you?" she asks him.

"Yes. Why?"

"Diaspora."

"What?"

"Diaspora. Malcolm's phone surveillance. On his monitor, we will be shown up as being …... together. Your phone and my phone are …..."

"Snogging," Harry says, reaching across to her and pulling her face towards his, so that he can kiss her fiercely.

Ruth can feel herself weakening. "Harry, we can't," she says against his lips, and then she kisses him, winding her hands around his neck, while his arms around her waist draw her against him.

Eventually, it is Harry who steps away from her, holding one of her hands in his. "I just needed to …... touch base with you. I hadn't meant to embarrass you."

"I'm not. Embarrassed. I just didn't want you to think that …..."

"I know. I'll go. We both have to keep our eye on the ball."

Ruth smiles, knowing that Harry occasionally throws in cricketing analogies. The sweet, sweet man can't help himself.

"I'm sorry about earlier," she says. "I ….. panicked. I didn't mean to give you the brush-off."

Harry nods, holding her eyes for a very long moment with his, as though he is memorising her. Then, squeezing her fingers in his own, he quickly kisses her, and leaves. Ruth closes the door behind him, and rests her forehead on the door, letting out her breath in a long sigh.

* * *

On the evening of the third day of the summit, Ruth is sitting at her monitor in the operations room. She should be heading off to bed, but she decides to check the CCTV, searching for Harry. She finds him sitting at the downstairs bar with a drink in front of him. He looks so forlorn, sitting alone, perched awkwardly on a bar stool. She reaches for her phone, and is about to ring his mobile number, when she notices he has company. She puts down the phone receiver, and watches, as a tall, slim brunette joins him. As she perches herself on the stool beside him, she reaches her hand across to rest on his arm. When the woman turns her head slightly, Ruth recognises her as the personal assistant to the French ambassador in London. She knows she should turn off her monitor and go to bed, but she can't. She _must_ know.

What will Harry do? Will he give in to temptation, or will he demonstrate to this woman that his heart belongs to another?

Ruth doesn't have to wait long for her question to be answered. The woman deftly moves her hand from Harry's arm to his leg, and that is when Harry grabs her wrist, lifts her hand, and places it on the bar next to her glass. He then speaks to her, his face blank – his spooks face - and while he is speaking, the woman's smile turns into a rather ugly scowl. Harry then stands and leaves the bar.

Ruth smiles as she turns off the monitor. What she has just seen is as good as a goodnight kiss from him. She heads to her room, satisfied that the old Harry – Harry the rake – is dead and buried. She sleeps very well that night.

* * *

The dramatic last day of the African summit continues once everyone returns to Thames House to chew over the bones of what had happened during the previous three days. Ruth stands on the Grid with the others, watching as Harry manages to shame the Foreign Secretary into silence. Ruth knows how much Harry would have enjoyed every minute of blackmailing the man. Then later, Ruth appears to be the only other member of the team on the Grid when Ros chews out Harry over her father's 20 year gaol sentence. Harry values Ros. He cares about her, and so to be accused by her is hard for Harry to take.

Ruth waits for Ros to leave, and then quietly enters Harry's office. As shell shocked as he is by Ros' verbal onslaught, he is happy to see her.

"About Ros. You were right. It isn't your fault, Harry," Ruth says gently, and then squeezes his arm, before she leaves the office.

She wants to stay with him, to offer him more, but she recognises this as one of the times when he may prefer to be left alone. So, she is surprised when, as she is about to head to her desk to gather her things, Harry calls her back into his office.

As she approaches his office door, he grasps her hand, and pulls her inside, and then quickly closes the door behind her. Before she can say anything, he has wrapped his arms around her, and is holding her against him, his mouth close to her ear.

"Thank you, Ruth," he is saying, "Thank you for caring. Thank you for …... for being you. How could I ever have thought I could live my life without you?"

Harry's voice is quiet, and his words spill rapidly from his mouth. Surprised by his show of emotion, Ruth slides her arms around his waist under his jacket, and grasps his back with her hands, pressing her fingers into his back muscles in a slow and gentle massaging motion. They stand like that for some time, oblivious to the world outside the office walls.

When they pull apart, Harry steps back to lean against the edge of his desk, while Ruth stands between his feet. Harry holds both her hands in his.

"I'm so proud of you," Ruth says, her voice very quiet.

"I failed today, Ruth. I failed to deliver the correct result, and I failed Ros."

"I disagree. You couldn't have known that the girl was about to be killed. The world has one less dictator, and that is what's important. Your clear thinking brought an end to the prospect of genocide in West Monrassa. I don't know anyone else – apart from Adam, and perhaps Tom Quinn – who could have acted so definitively, and swiftly."

"You know as well as I do that it won't take long for another Sekoa to take the seat of power."

"The world still has one less dictator, Harry."

"But the girl …..."

"Is now a martyr, and martyrs are very powerful symbols. In the end, she may achieve more by dying than had she lived."

There is a gentle rap on the door, and Harry calls out, `Come in.' Ruth turns to see Malcolm quietly slide the door back, but Harry doesn't allow her to move, grasping her hands even tighter between his own.

Malcolm's eyes quickly take in and understand the scene before him. It is as though there is nothing at all unusual about Harry and Ruth standing close to one another, holding hands.

"I'm calling it a night," he says quietly. "From my side of the fence, it was a successful outcome. I thought you did very well, Harry. You too, Ruth."

Harry and Ruth say thank you, almost in unison.

"I just needed to say that …... in case you're beating yourself up about the girl's death ... none of us could have predicted that. I hadn't seen it coming, and perhaps I should have."

Harry nods and smiles wearily.

"Goodnight, then," and Malcolm is gone, the office door sliding closed behind him.

The couple left alone inside the office smile into one another's eyes.

"Do you want to come back to mine tonight?" Ruth asks, already knowing what his answer will be.

Harry sighs heavily, and smiles, squeezing her hands. "I'd love nothing more, but I have so much to do. I might catch a quick nap on the sofa, and then I'll work through the night."

If she believed she'd be able to change his mind, Ruth would have argued with him, but she knows that Harry is as stubborn as she. She leans into him to kiss him goodnight, and then she quickly leaves. She is relieved the summit is behind them, but as she casts one last glance at Harry before she enters the pods, she can still feel the small knot of fear in her stomach.

_So, if wasn't the Africa Summit, what is it?_


	4. Chapter 4

_**A/N: Thank you all who are reading, and thanks for the feedback. This is forming into something a little different from what I normally write.**_

* * *

**~ Catherine ~**

Ruth's attention is fully focused on her monitor. She is almost finished a scan of Agency hotel and reception staff across all of Greater London, when her mobile phone text message sounds.

_Roof 10 mins_, it reads.

She looks up, but he's not in his office. She then quickly glances around the Grid to see everyone other than Harry and Adam busy at their desks.

Adam's absence can be explained by him having been all over the place since the final day at Havensworth. She knows that Harry is giving him a few days to settle before he suggests Adam seek professional help. Harry, on the other hand, seems to have slipped out of the office unnoticed.

Ten minutes later, Ruth steps through the door to the roof balcony, and Harry is already there, his hands on the balustrade, staring ahead of him, deep in thought.

"You've been here all along," she says, stepping up to stand beside him, their bodies not quite touching, the heel of her hand resting against the corresponding part of Harry's hand.

"I came here to make a call."

Ruth looks up at him and smiles and nods. It is a rare, sunny summer's day, giving her one more thing to smile about.

"I had to call my daughter. Well, I didn't _have_ to …." Harry looks down into her eyes. "... but she rang me when I was in a meeting with Oliver Mace, and I could hardly answer it then."

"And how is Mr Mace?"

Harry screws up his nose, while at the same time, his lips curve in a grimace. "Incomprehensible, as usual. He and I speak different languages. He's annoyed that I have two of my junior staff looking into the fire at Cotterdam Prison."

"I thought he'd be pleased. Jess and Tyson haven't found anything untoward. Not yet. They're both taking the weekend off, and next week I'll need to be getting them ready to take over my tasks while we're away. I've suggested that they pick up where they left off once you and I take our leave."

Harry curls his fingers around the top of the balustrade, and again smiles at Ruth. This time his smile is one which is personal, and just for her. All they are now, and all they could be are in that smile.

"Have you packed your bag?" he asks, his eyes twinkling in the sunlight.

"Of course not. There's still plenty of time."

"Only five more sleeps," Harry says.

"You're counting _sleeps_?"

"Why not? Aren't you looking forward to Paris?"

"Yes, of course, but I'm counting the days, not the sleeps."

"So you _are_ counting down until we leave."

"Only sometimes. There's so much to do on the Grid before we go away."

"Has anyone said anything to you about us being off the Grid together?" Harry asks, his face again serious.

"No. There's been no reference to it, which is rather strange. No-one seems to care."

"You sound disappointed."

"I am a bit."

Harry sighs, and looks ahead, across the rooftops, towards the river. "I have a suggestion," he says quietly, not looking at her. "When I rang Catherine, she told me she's off to Lebanon on Monday, and since she's spending Sunday with her mother and brother, I …. asked her to come to mine for dinner tomorrow night. I'm …... wondering …... would you like to come …... so that you can meet one another?"

"Have you told her about me?"

Harry nods. "I told her when I rang her back …... around half an hour ago."

"And how did she take it?"

This time, Harry turns to face Ruth, so that he leans against the balustrade, resting one elbow on the top. "She was fine," he says. "She wants to meet you. Had she not asked, I wouldn't have suggested it. Catherine can run a bit hot and cold where I'm concerned. She's a lot like her mother, but without the build-up of years of resentment towards me. I would not have been surprised had she shown no interest at all in meeting you, but she said that any woman who can tolerate me must be worthy of sainthood."

Harry smiles, and reaches one hand towards her, but lets it drop before the hand reaches her face. They are at work.

"I'll help you cook dinner," Ruth adds, and Harry nods, smiling. "And I'll bring dessert. You eat cheesecake, don't you?"

Harry rolls his eyes, patting is stomach. "What do you think?"

* * *

The doorbell rings ten minutes early.

"That can't possibly be her," he says with irritation. "Catherine is always at least fifteen minutes late. She's made an art form out of tardiness."

Less than two minutes later, Ruth is bending over the open oven door, checking the chicken, when Harry brings his daughter into the kitchen to meet her.

"Ruth?"

Harry's voice has her standing upright too quickly, and the oven door slams shut on its own. She looks up to see Harry standing beside a slim, blond young woman. Catherine Townsend hasn't changed a lot in the two years since she'd been implicated in the November Committee, although Ruth had only ever seen images of her on film. Catherine steps towards Ruth, her hand outstretched.

"Dad's told me about you, Ruth. I'm glad to meet you."

The two women shake hands, and then Ruth apologises for the meal not being ready.

"I wanted to talk to you first. You know, get the goss on my Dad."

"Wine, Catherine?" Harry asks, taking a bottle of white from the table, and brandishing a corkscrew.

Catherine turns towards Harry and nods, looking back apologetically at Ruth, perhaps realising that her suggestion has come a bit early in the evening. After a few wines, hopefully everyone would be a bit looser, a little less tense.

Ruth is surprised by how nervous she feels. Her place in Harry's life is already quite secure, and yet she feels, in meeting members of his family, her suitability is being assessed. Catherine has a tendency to hold eye contact for a little longer than necessary, which is something Harry also does. The younger woman's eyes are clear and grey, and her face is almost free from blemish. Physically, she can see nothing of Harry in her. They are sitting around the kitchen table, on their second glass of wine, when Ruth mentions this.

"If you want to see a mini Dad, wait until you meet my brother. They are so alike that they can barely be in the same room together. Talk about peas in a pod."

Ruth looks up at Harry, who is sitting across the table from her, next to Catherine, and she catches the fleeting look of pain in Harry's eyes. He has spoken very little to Ruth about Graham, but it is clear to her that, whatever has happened between them, Harry feels responsible, and doesn't know how to go about fixing it. When Ruth catches his eye, she offers him a reassuring smile. There have been times when loving Harry is so difficult, but this is not one of those times.

Harry asks Catherine to help him serve up the roast chicken and vegetables.

"Ruth, you can either watch us at work, or sit at the dining table and be waited on …... as you deserve."

Yes, there are days when it is very easy to love Harry.

Over dinner they drink even more wine, and Catherine talks about her trip to Lebanon.

"I have someone there, so I try to go there as often as possible, but I generally stay no more than three months. It's not the safest of places."

Ruth watches Harry, as his jaw clenches with words he never speaks. She knows how worried he is about her.

"She wants to heal the whole world, one country at a time," he'd said, as they'd companionably prepared the meal together. "And I think her brother is hell bent on destroying it, beginning with himself."

Ruth could feel the pain he was suppressing as he'd spoken those words, and how frightened he is for both his children. As much as Ruth sometimes regrets not having had children, there is clearly a price to be paid by those who have them.

After they have finished dinner, Harry begins to clean up around Ruth and Catherine. His daughter offers to help, but he brushes off her offer.

"No, this is time for you two to get to know one another, while I do what has to be done in the kitchen." Harry smiles at them both, as he carries plates and cutlery through to the kitchen.

"We need to go to the living room," Catherine says, "otherwise Dad will be listening in. He's sure _we'll be talking about him_."

She raises her voice slightly as she speaks the last five words, hoping to get a rise out of Harry. As they gather the bottle of wine and their glasses, they hear Harry chuckling from the kitchen.

"I can't believe the difference in him," Catherine says, as they settle themselves, Catherine on the sofa, and Ruth in one of the armchairs which flank the fireplace.

"You've noticed?" Ruth replies, smiling inside herself. She had thought it was only she who can see how Harry has mellowed …... relaxed.

"I don't know what you've done to him, Ruth, but whatever it is, I'd be happy were you to keep it up."

Ruth is relieved that Catherine had not mentioned the probability of regular sex mellowing Harry, because she and he know that it can't be sex. They haven't yet had sex, and won't until they get to Paris – 4 sleeps away. That is Harry's plan. He'd shared it with her only that evening, as they were preparing dinner in his kitchen. And Ruth had always believed that she is the one who plans everything to the finest detail.

"I …." Ruth is trying to find the right words – words which are truthful, but not offhand, or trite. "Harry and I have cared for one another for quite a while now," she begins. "I have been …... reluctant to act on my feelings for him, but now …... that has changed."

"Yes, he said something similar." Catherine takes another swig of her wine. "As I see it, he's a man who had an extra long adolescence, and now he's a grown up, and capable of a grown up relationship, with another adult." Catherine watches Ruth, in that staring way she and Harry have. "I was watching both of you during dinner. Dad watches you all the time. It's as though he's afraid you'll get up and leave were he not watching. You, on the other hand, only glance at him occasionally, but your glances are …... the only word I can think of is loving."

"Loving?"

"Yeah. You look at him with love in your eyes. My father is a lucky man. I like you, and not just because Dad is clearly crazy about you. I like you because you're smart, and you won't let him walk all over you, or treat you like shit."

"He wouldn't dare," Ruth says quietly, knowing that she has spoken the truth.

"Good. He wasn't a good husband to my mother – sorry, but that's the truth – but nor was she a good wife. They were …..." Catherine stops, visibly embarrassed. "I'm sorry. I shouldn't have said any of that. It's not fair. That's my history, and it's also Dad's, and I should have kept it to myself."

Ruth leans forward and watches Catherine until the younger woman looks back at her. "It is only my business if and when Harry tells me, Catherine, and so far he hasn't mentioned his marriage to your mother, and I'm not planning to ask him. It was only two weeks ago yesterday that we went on our first date."

"Two _weeks_? The way Dad talks about you, I thought you'd been together for at least six months."

"Our first date was a culmination of many months of longing on both our parts. And …... neither of us are young, so …... we're rather rapidly making up for lost time."

"Dad told me you're 36. That's hardly old. You're only ten years older than me."

"I'm old enough to be an equal partner for your father."

"I don't doubt that."

Suddenly, it seems to Ruth that Catherine is satisfied that her father is in good hands, and it is at that moment that Harry enters the sitting room with another bottle of wine. They drink it slowly, so that an hour later, Catherine decides it is time she went home.

"You can't possibly drive, Catherine," Harry says. "Stay the night, and go home in the morning."

"And play gooseberry? Hardly. I'll get a taxi."

Harry tries to convince Catherine she should sleep in his spare room, and she is just as adamant about calling a taxi. _Who says she's not like her father?_ Ruth thinks. _Stubborn as mules, both of them._

When the taxi arrives, Catherine surprises Ruth by pulling her in for a hug.

"I'm so glad to have met you," Catherine whispers. "You are _so_ good for him."

"Thank you," Ruth whispers back.

"What was all that about?" Harry asks after Catherine has gone, and she is making them each a cup of tea in the kitchen.

"What do you mean?"

"The whispering. Were you whispering about me?"

Ruth smiles, because were she to not smile, she'd have to laugh. "The truth?"

"If you can, that would be nice," he says, a guarded look on his face.

"In a way, we were. Catherine thinks I'm good for you."

Harry smiles widely, his face relaxing. "You are. Good for me."

"And I think she's been worried about you …... since you're not getting any younger."

"What does _that_ mean?"

"I'm not sure, but I think she was worried you'd turn into an embittered old man, and then she'd feel obligated to visit you, even though she wouldn't want to. Now …... with me in the picture, you're …. much nicer to be around. I couldn't say for sure, but I think that's what she means."

Harry nods, and then watches Ruth as she sips her tea. He feels like he's the luckiest man in the world.

"You'll stay the night, Ruth?"

"I guess so, although I have no sleeping paraphernalia -"

"I have t-shirts I've grown out of."

"Grown out of?"

Harry smiles across the table at her. He's about to spend another night sleeping in the same bed with Ruth. He can take a bit of teasing.

* * *

Ruth is woken in the morning by soft lips on her cheek. She opens her eyes to see Harry, dressed for work, a mug of hot tea in his hand. She turns her head towards him, and this time his lips capture hers. It is a wonderful way to wake in the morning, even if it is too early, in Ruth's opinion. She struggles to sit up, aware that she is wearing nothing beneath the t-shirt of Harry's she'd worn to bed. She watches his face, as he notices the shape of her body beneath the t-shirt.

"You're going into work today?" she asks.

Harry sits on the edge of the bed, so that he faces her while she drinks her tea. "I thought I might. There's only -"

"Three sleeps until we leave."

His smile is wide and relaxed. "And I can't wait."

Ruth smiles and nods. "Me too."

"I'll give you a lift home on my way to work."

"Thanks. I want to clean my house today, and wash everything."

"We'll only be away six days, Ruth."

"I know, but I need to …... put everything in order before …..."

Harry knows what she means. That's one of the reasons he is planning to work all day on a Sunday. The success of an operation is created in the planning, and taking Ruth to Paris for six days is an operation, and he _really_ needs for it to be successful.


	5. Chapter 5

_**A/N: M-ish at times.**_

* * *

**~ Paris ~**

When anticipating their time in Paris, Ruth had imagined she and Harry walking hand-in-hand beside the Seine, or eating food from the French provinces in an intimate restaurant down some alleyway off the river, and yes, she'd imagined them making love in their hotel bedroom, with a Paris moon peeking through the curtains. What she hadn't expected was the joy of waking next to Harry the morning after, his eyes watching her as she brings herself fully awake. As they lie with their heads close together, their legs entangled in the sheets, shyly sharing soft kisses between whispering their `good mornings', Ruth believes her life cannot possibly get any better than this.

It is while she is lying in bed next to Harry on that first morning in Paris, that Ruth first shares her regrets.

"I'm sorry I was so …..."

"You were wonderful, Ruth."

"No, I don't mean last night. I'm talking about how I wouldn't have dinner with you the second time."

"That's behind us now. We're here …... and it's …... unforgettable."

"Is that all? You were so upset."

"I was at the time, but I am no longer. How could I be? Us ….. in Paris …... for six days. What's there to be upset about?"

Harry turns on to his side, and rests his hand on her naked hip, his thumb caressing the tender skin inside her hip bone. Ruth gasps as his thumb glides lower, making brief contact with her pubic hair. She sees him watching her carefully, measuring her reaction to his touch.

"Besides," he continues, his mouth against her cheek, "I'm planning further holidays. I thought next time we should go to New York."

"New York? But Harry -"

"New York ….. then Rome …... then Boston …... then Madrid …... then …..."

"New Orleans …. during Mardi Gras. I've always wanted to do that."

"So you see, Ruth, I have no reason at all for sadness …... and certainly none for disappointment."

Harry lifts an eyebrow as he gazes at Ruth meaningfully. Ruth blushes, and looks away. They are good together, so very, very good. The perfect match …... a middle-aged man, past his prime, and a very wary woman. On paper, they're a long way from being perfect, but in reality? In reality they are beautiful, gentle, careful, and even somewhat poetic.

Ruth turns back to see Harry watching her, his eyebrows drawn together with worry, his lips pursed, his wandering fingers stilled.

"You were a long way from me then, Ruth."

She shakes her head slightly. "No. I was thinking about us …... and how good we are together, and the absolute improbability of that."

Harry leans into her, and kisses her lips gently, and Ruth feels his thumb once again begin its exploration of the skin of her lower abdomen.

"I don't think we're improbable at all, Ruth. It's our imperfections which work in our favour. We …. complement one another. We …... fit together."

On the word, `fit', Harry pushes his hips close to her so that she can feel his erection pressing against her thigh. Harry's fingers have moved from her hip, and are sliding southwards, while his mouth finds her nipple. Ruth settles on to her back, and with her hands grasping his sides, she pulls him closer, and allows him to settle between her thighs. When they are both ready, Ruth reaches down to guide him inside her, before she grasps his hips between her knees. He watches her closely as he fills her completely. He waits until she smiles into his eyes, before he begins moving.

Ruth has never before been able to look at a man while he makes love to her. She has always been at her most reserved during sex, not because she is prudish, or shy, but because when a man and a woman are joined in the act of love, the closeness is confronting for her. She is always more comfortable with a little distance between herself and others. With Harry inside her, moving slowly, waiting until it is time for him to quicken his pace, plunging into her deeply, he will not allow her to run away, or to erect walls between them. Should she turn her head away from him even slightly, he will lift his finger to her chin, and gently turn her face towards him, so that she can do nothing other than hold his eyes, as he is holding hers.

With their faces so close, she feels his breath on her as his excitement builds, and this time – early on their first morning in Paris – as her climax builds, Ruth also feels tears forming. It is being this close to him that is so emotional for her. It is having no walls, no boundaries between she and this man. It is just she and her lover – Ruth and Harry – and nothing else, and she feels weightless, without a body, without a name, with nothing to offer her lover other than this moment they are sharing.

And that is all he asks of her ... this moment, and hopefully many more. Harry will always want more.

They don't come at the same time. They have not yet mastered that art together. This time she comes first, and he smiles as she does, but he takes a while longer to climax, and once he shudders inside her, his sweat pooling between their bodies, she wraps her arms around him, and holds him against her. As difficult as this degree of closeness is for her, Ruth knows it is just what she needs. She needs to feel tethered to someone. She needs to belong somewhere …... with someone ... and being tethered to Harry is like being one with a mountain which has existed since time began. He is the most solid of all solid objects.

Since it is still early, they lie together for some time, and Harry dozes, while she watches his face in repose, as he lies beside her. He is absolutely still as he sleeps, his lips full, his face unlined. For the first time, they shower together, and Ruth lazily bats Harry's hand away, as he tries to touch her in places he'd touched her while they were in bed.

"Enough, Harry," she says, but she smiles into his eyes, so she is not angry. She knows he is making up for the time they'd lost while they'd kept one another at a safe distance. There is no need for them to hurry, to be afraid that time is running out for them; they have plenty of time.

They eat breakfast in their room, as they talk quietly about their plans for the day. Ruth wants to do everything that day – museums, book shops, churches, patisseries. As to be expected, Harry has thought about this. He has it all under control, so by 9.30, they leave the hotel, and head for the Madeleine Church. They will lunch at a cafe nearby, and then visit the Rodin Museum in the afternoon. He has allowed ample time for browsing in bookshops. He knows Ruth well enough to allow for that.

Ruth is in Heaven. Paris with Harry is very nearly perfect.

* * *

On the recommendation of Malcolm, who is looking after both Harry's dog, and Ruth's two cats, on their third night in Paris, Harry had already booked them in for dinner at _Cuisine de Martha_ – Martha's Kitchen. It is a small, rustic restaurant, a twenty minute walk from their hotel, where a provincial woman cooks each night according to her whim, and the availability of fresh ingredients. There is no set menu, as even Martha herself does not know what she will be cooking until early each afternoon. Diners eat what Martha prepares, and it is always, _always_ wonderful. So wonderful, that as Harry pays for their meal, he books them in for the remaining three nights they are to be in Paris. He doesn't tell Ruth. She had insisted he try her Tomato Rice soup, even though he had his own bowl in front of him, and she'd talked so much about the _daube de boeuf Provencal_ as she was eating it, that it was cold by the time she'd finished. When, on their fourth evening in Paris, he takes her to the same restaurant, Ruth is overjoyed. The _snapper en papillote_ – French snapper wrapped in parchment packets – is mouth watering, and Harry agrees. If Ruth is happy, then he is happy.

* * *

On the Monday, their last day in Paris, rain sets in, and they are stuck in their hotel room. Ruth reads excerpts from her several books of French poetry, while Harry flicks through the gifts Ruth has chosen for Malcolm. Harry had been unsure about Ruth's choice of books for Malcolm – among them, Virgil, the French poets of the 19th Century, and an anthology of American poetry. Ruth has worked closer to Malcolm, and clearly knows him better, and this makes Harry feel remiss in his dealings with the members of his team.

The rain clears to showers, and so Harry carries an umbrella for their walk to _Cuisine de Martha _at dinner time. They are back in their hotel room by 10 o'clock, and as they prepare for bed, they know that they are about to make love for the last time while they are in Paris. They are to leave first thing in the morning, as they are due back in London by 1 o'clock.

They quickly remove their sleeping attire, and Harry rolls over so that he is lying on top of Ruth, taking most of his weight on his elbows. They kiss - gently at first, and then with more passion and intensity. Once their bodies join, they move together slowly, gazing at one another, spoken words unnecessary.

As they lie together in post coital exhaustion, Harry waits for Ruth to say something. He knows she is upset; he'd seen it in her eyes while he'd been moving inside her. He sees this as a beginning, rather than an ending. Wasn't that what he'd told her, after they'd woken on their first morning in Paris?

"We'll do this again, Ruth," he says quietly into the air.

It is a while before she answers. She emits a long sigh before speaking.

"Harry, I'm worried. You'll think me ridiculous, especially after what I told you about when my father got sick."

Harry turns slightly, so that he is half facing her, but he doesn't speak.

"I have this feeling. I've had it since …... oh, I think it was the night before the Havensworth summit …... when you came around to my place. It's …... I can't help it, Harry. It's a feeling of dread, and it's about you. I'm afraid I'm about to lose you."

And when Ruth voice cracks a little on the word, `you', Harry turns so that he can put both arms around Ruth. "I'm not going anywhere, Ruth. I want this. I want you."

"But …... what if we don't have any say in what happens to us? What if we …... are destined to not make it together? What if something happens which is out of our control? What if one of us dies?"

"Ruth, I am really hoping that your fears are just fears, but if they're not …... and if one of us dies soon, then isn't it a good thing that the one left behind has the memory of this trip to Paris?"

"And you're happy with that?" Ruth has pulled away from him a little, so that she can look into his eyes. Her own eyes are dark and troubled.

"Of course not. But won't it be better – if one of us is to be left after the other is …... killed …... won't it be better for the one who survives to have known they were loved?"

This is the first time either of them have mentioned the word `love' in relation to themselves.

"So …... Harry, are you saying that you love me?"

"Of course I love you! Do you think I make a habit of taking women to France, for the purpose of getting them into bed?"

"You waited until we were in Paris before we have sex. It …... kind of …... looks that way."

Harry's eyebrows come together in a frown, and then when he sees that Ruth is smiling, he relaxes, and returns her smile.

"Honestly, Ruth. Sometimes you are just so ….. bloody …... infuriating," and he wraps Ruth in his arms and kisses her thoroughly. "If I am about to die, and I hope your fears are just …... a habit, rather than a reality …... you must always remember how much you are loved by me."

They don't kiss, or hug. They just stare at each other.

"And I love you, Harry. I'll always love you, even when you're stubborn, and …... and wrong, and I'm right."

"That sounds like a trial without judge or jury, Ruth. And I'm not stubborn."

"Actually …... you are."

"Really …... I'm not …... but you are."

Harry is almost laughing by the time she realises that this is a game, and he's not being terribly serious. They struggle in one another's arms, each attempting to disengage from the arms of the other. Eventually, they are both too tired to bother continuing.

"Harry …..."

"Yes?"

"Let's make a pact that we should end all arguments with a play fight."

Harry chuckles, and then reaches over to kiss her. "Goodnight, Ruth," he says quietly, before he turns out the light.

"Goodnight, my love."


	6. Chapter 6

**~ Mace ~**

They take separate taxis from the airport, so that Harry can go straight to the Grid, while Ruth heads straight home to her house. Harry has asked her to promise that she won't be at work until the next day.

"At the very earliest, Ruth. I don't want to see you until tomorrow."

"Well, thanks for that."

They are standing close to one another, Harry's hand resting on her waist, while Ruth's taxi driver stacks her bag and her extra bag of books into the boot of the taxi.

"I mean it. Unpack, have something to eat, and lie on your bed and read."

"I thought I might visit Malcolm to give him his gift, and collect the animals."

"Leave that to me. I was planning to collect them after work today."

"Harry, I can do that. You have enough to do."

In the end, Harry agrees that Ruth can pick up the animals from Malcolm's. He stands at the roadside and watches while Ruth's taxi takes her into the afternoon traffic, and out of sight. He's never before felt such emptiness.

* * *

It is approaching 4 o'clock, and Ruth has unpacked, and is putting through her last load of washing, when her phone rings. Expecting it to be Harry, she doesn't even check the name on her phone's display, but grabs her phone from the kitchen table, presses Answer Call, and begins speaking.

"Harry, you'd better not be ringing me to tell me you're working late -"

The tone of the cough on the other end of the phone has her stopping mid sentence.

"Er …... sorry I'm not Harry," Malcolm says carefully. "He's asked me to ring you."

"Oh. He's working late, isn't he?"

"He was called out to meet Oliver Mace at his club for a 4 o'clock meeting. It was all a bit rushed ….. and totally unexpected. The other reason I'm ringing you is to deliver your cats to your place, and Harry's dog to his. He says you have a key to his house."

"I have, but Malcolm, I was going to pick them up a little later from your house."

"Harry gave me an early minute, and I can't say no to that, can I?"

"I suppose not."

They ring off, after making arrangements for Malcolm to deliver Ruth's cats to her house, along with Harry's little dog. Ruth will take Scarlet to Harry's later in the day, when he gets home.

* * *

It is after 6 o'clock by the time Malcolm arrives at her house with the three animals, and Ruth is already in a state of heightened anxiety. Once the animals are let loose inside her house, and their food and water bowls filled, she offers Malcolm a cup of tea. She has already forgotten about his gifts, even though they are wrapped and ready, on the sideboard in the living room.

"Do you have any idea why it is Harry is having to meet Oliver Mace?" Ruth asks, attempting to mask her anxiety.

"Not really. While you and Harry were away, we were following the Cotterdam Prison mystery, and it all blew up in our faces when the security officer at the prison threw himself under a train last Friday morning. Young Tyson Stanton is a fine analyst, Ruth. He uncovered a link between the fire, and a group of prisoners – terrorists - who were said to have died, but didn't. Mace had them sent to Egypt to be tortured. When Harry arrived on the Grid this afternoon, the first thing Adam did was bring him up to speed with what has happened. I don't mind telling you that I'm concerned about Harry's meeting with Mace."

Ruth nods. She is concerned also …... _very_ concerned.

"Have you heard from him yet?" Malcolm asks.

"No, and from five o'clock onwards, I've tried ringing him, and there's been no answer."

"I'm sure there's a reason he's not answering, Ruth. If he's still at the club, they don't allow mobile phones to be used in the lounge area or the dining room."

"I'm sure Harry couldn't tolerate Oliver Mace's company for over two hours."

"I tend to agree with you."

It is then that Ruth remembers the gift she has for Malcolm, and she excuses herself while she goes to the sitting room. Malcolm is both embarrassed and pleased with her choices.

"I'm assuming you chose these, Ruth."

"Yes. I knew your tastes to be eclectic, and …... Harry has a bottle of something for you as well."

"You shouldn't have, Ruth. I enjoyed the animals. My mother became rather fond of the small cat. You didn't tell me his name."

"I'm embarrassed to say he doesn't have one. I just call him Cat. I know I should have named him, but he answers to Cat now."

"You could have called him Gatto ….. or Katze."

Ruth smiles across at Malcolm. He really is a lovely man, and a good friend. She'd enjoy talking to him for longer, but she is beginning to worry about Harry.

"Malcolm …... is it silly of me to be concerned for Harry? He told me he'd ring me this afternoon – but he didn't – and then -"

She doesn't get to finish her train of thought. Malcolm's phone rings, and when he takes it from his pocket, he show's her the phone's display. It is Adam, and Ruth knows that is not a good sign, since Malcolm has officially left for the day. When Malcolm answers, he listens for a few minutes, while Ruth hears Adam's voice on the other end.

"Yes, Adam, I'm at Ruth's now. I'll tell her," he says, and then he hangs up.

His face, when he looks up at her, tells her that all is not well. Ruth feels her body go cold, and her heart rate increase, and she takes a big breath.

"Tell me, Malcolm."

"It's not good, Ruth, but neither is it disastrous. Not yet. Harry's car has been found abandoned in an industrial estate in Chiswick. The owner of the property happened to be driving past, and saw the car parked there, with the drivers' side door open. He called the police, and they called it in, and of course, it was then flagged on our system …... thanks to Tyson, who is still at work."

"Any sign of Harry?"

"Not yet. The police have searched all the buildings on the estate, and there's no sign of him. There is one detail, though …..."

"Malcolm, tell me. I need to know."

"There was blood on the tarmac beside the car. One of our technicians will need to test the sample for …..."

"I'd rather our resources were put to finding Harry."

"I agree, but we have no idea where to look. When Adam rang me, he was on the way to the club. He rang there, and was told that Harry had left just after 4.40pm."

Ruth controls her thoughts, and pushes her panic for Harry aside.

"I'll go to Harry's house now, Malcolm, and I'll take Scarlet. She's much happier there. I need to be there, just in case Harry finds his way home. He might even be home already. I haven't even tried his home number."

Ruth grabs her mobile phone from behind her, and tries Harry's home number, which, after seven rings, goes to answer machine. She leaves a brief message: "Harry …. when you get this message, call me." Then she hangs up, puts her phone on the table top, and looks at Malcolm.

"There must be something we can do."

Malcolm's face seems brighter. "I just had an idea," he says. "What phone did Harry have on him today?"

"He took both phones to Paris – his work phone, and the private one – but he packed his private phone in his luggage, and pocketed his work phone, ready for his half day on the Grid."

"I'll give Tyson a call. He might be able to find Harry, so long as Harry has his work phone on him. I've been assuming he'd left it on or in his desk."

"Harry will always carry his work phone while he is doing anything work related." Ruth stares past Malcolm, chewing her inside lip. "You can still use the Diaspora program, can't you, Malcolm?"

"That's why I was about to call Tyson. Harry's work phone can still be tracked."

Malcolm takes out his phone, and scrolls through his contacts list. He is about to press Call, when his phone rings. He answers, and listens for around a minute and a half, and then he hangs up.

"That was Adam. He's had a look at the CCTV at Harry's club. It shows Harry leaving in a huff, while Mace remained in his seat. Then Mace made a phone call. Adam then got Tyson to check the CCTV from the basement car park, and as Harry was about to get into his car, he was grabbed by two men – younger, fitter, bigger than he – who pushed him into the back seat of his car, and appeared to tie him up with cable ties, then they drove off with him."

"There were no witnesses?"

"Not even one."

"And the call Mace made?"

"Tyson is checking it. I now have to ask him to trace Harry through his phone, using Diaspora."

Ruth decides that since she is unable to help Harry in any direct way, the best thing she can do is to keep busy, and not worry too much. It won't help for her to be worrying about him.

"I need to go to Harry's house," she says, once she's washed and dried their tea things.

"Ruth …... I don't think that's going to be necessary. If he goes home, he'll be safe there, he'll see the blinking light on his home phone, and he'll return your call. It will not help him if you are there."

All the pent up energy in Ruth's body suddenly leaves her. She's been acting on impulse, and it has not been helpful. Best she listen to Malcolm. Malcolm is calm. She is not.

Suddenly, Malcolm puts a gentle hand on her arm, as she stands at the sink, staring out the window. It is still light outside, although the day has been grey.

"I know you're worried about Harry," he says quietly, "and especially since your ….. holiday together. I'm sure he'll be alright. Harry is tough. He's survived a lot worse than this."

"I know," she says. She is incapable of saying anything else. So, this is what it feels like to lose someone you love, and not be able to do anything to help him.

* * *

Only six miles away from Ruth's house, it is some time later when Harry wakes, his head thumping worse than with any hangover he's ever had, but no worse than any of his previous beatings. He looks around him, but the room is dark, but not black. He makes out random pieces of furniture, in what appears to be an abandoned building, if the stench of mould and neglect is any indication. He is lying on cement, and his back is aching from the cold, and his wrists hurt from where he has clearly been tied up, but is no longer. Very gradually, he sits up, and then tries to stand, but his head spins, so he stays sitting, looking around him. He is surprised to see an old man – older than he – lying on his side in a grubby sleeping bag, watching him with inquisitive eyes.

"Y'can't sleep here, mate," the man says. "Street people only. They gave you a bit of a drubbing, them fellas. Then it wus a cuppla kids rolled ya. They took all yer money – gave me a fiver - but put your wallet back in yer pocket. Dumbest kids I've ever seen. You'll find yer phone's missing."

_Shit! Shit, shit, shit_. He needs to phone Ruth.

"I don't suppose you have a phone," he says to the old man.

The man laughs so hard, he begins coughing, and almost chokes. Harry decides that he needs to get out of here, and back home. To Ruth.

* * *

Malcolm stays with Ruth until just after 9.30. She scrambles eggs for them both, and then brews a pot of tea.

The first bit of news filters through just as they are about to eat.

"That was Tyson," Malcolm reports, once his call is finished. "He's traced Harry's phone. It's on the move towards Shepherd's Bush. We think someone may have stolen it. Tyson's tracking it, and Zaf is on his way to intercept."

Forty minutes later, Zaf reports back, to say that two lads had `found a posh geezer, and nicked his phone'. Zaf had threatened them with a terrible punishment for their crime, ensuring they noticed the gun inside his jacket. They handed over the phone, but the younger of the two – no more than thirteen – had asked Zaf for money in exchange for the phone.

"Piss off before I shoot you both," Zaf had said through clenched teeth.

At the time he'd rung Malcolm, Zaf was on his way to an industrial estate half way between Chiswick and Shepherd's Bush, less than half a mile from where he'd apprehended the two boys, who had, after all, been happy to provide him with directions.

"Did you remind him to hurry?" Ruth asked Malcolm.

"That goes without saying, Ruth."

* * *

Malcolm leaves Ruth's house at around 9.45.

"I'll be alright now, Malcolm. My body feels calmer, so I know Harry's alright. Besides, you have your mother to take care of."

"She'll be asleep by now, but I'd best get home, all the same. Ring me if you need anything, Ruth, anything at all."

"Thank you …... for everything. I'm going over to Harry's house now. I'll wait for him there."

Malcolm has only just left, and Ruth is trying to coax Scarlet into her pet carrier, when her mobile phone rings.

"Don't go anywhere, Scarlet," she says, pointing an accusing finger at the small dog. "Hello," she says, her eyes still on Scarlet, who is slowly backing away from her …... and the pet carrier.

"It's me," says a deep, husky voice. "Zaf is driving me home. I just needed to tell you I'm alright. I imagine you're worried."

"_Worried_? I've been beside myself," Ruth says too loudly, but then moderates the volume of her voice. "It's really good to hear your voice. I'm about to drive over to your house …... with Scarlet."

"Good. I was going to ask you to come to my house. I'd like you …... with me …. tonight."

"I'll be there in less than a half hour."

And she is. When she arrives at Harry's house, she liberates Scarlet from her carrier, and then she is just about to climb the stairs to the bathroom, to run a bath for Harry, when she hears the front door unlock. She turns, and almost runs down the hallway to the door. Harry, visibly tired, turns from activating the alarm, to wrap his arms around Ruth.

Theirs is a happy and relieved reunion, and after they have kissed, hugged, and kissed some more, Ruth suggests she run a bath for him.

"I picked up some fish and chips on the way home," Harry says, lifting a plastic bag of food from where he'd placed it on the hall table. "If you'd like to join me while I eat, I'll tell you about my day. After that, I'd love a bath. I ache all over."

* * *

After much coaxing, Ruth shares the bath with Harry, leaning back against his chest, with the water almost up to her chin. She has tried to not stare at the bruises on his chest and sides, but the cut under his left eye, and the beginning of swelling over his cheekbone is hard to ignore.

"I was only punched and kicked, Ruth. It could have been much worse."

"That's not a comforting thought," Ruth had replied. "People have died from less."

"It will take more than that to finish me off. I was being given a message."

"Which was?"

"Join Mace and the other JIC members who sanction torture of terrorists, or keep my mouth firmly closed."

"You can't go along with them, Harry."

"I have no intention of keeping my mouth shut, either."

"Blood was found on the ground beside your car."

"That wasn't mine. I managed to punch Gerald in the nose before the other one – Max, I think – grabbed me from behind, and dragged me into another car. They're a couple of Mace's thugs. I've no doubt Oliver was trying to shut me up."

"Tyson traced the call Mace made immediately after you left, and CCTV from the street shows the tall one with the buzz cut answering. In less than a minute, they'd thrown you into the back seat of your own car."

Harry makes a `hrmf' sound, which reverberates through his chest to Ruth's shoulders.

"There will be no difficulty in tracing your assault back to Mace. He'll have to resign."

"Men like him don't just slink away. He'll re-invent himself ….. some time in the future. I hadn't realised until today what a fanatic he is. He really _believes_ in torture as a method to punish terrorists. From my experience, it will only encourage them."

Ruth then notices how the water is almost cold, and so she carefully stands, and then steps out of the bath.

"Mmm, I'll dream about that tonight," Harry murmurs.

"Dream about what?"

"The view I've just had of you ….. stepping out of the bath."

Harry reaches out a hand as if to touch her, and she gently pushes his hand away.

"I'm here tonight to keep you company in bed. There'll be no shenanigans."

"Were I even partly capable, I'd ignore your edict, Ruth, but as I'm injured, I'm having the night off."

Ruth leaves the bathroom, wrapped in her bathrobe.

"Last one to bed has to make breakfast in the morning," she calls from the bedroom.

"I hope you like toast," Harry calls back, as he pulls the plug in the bath for the water to drain. "I'm incapable of making anything fancy. I'm injured.

"Oh, shut up, and come to bed."

As she shuffles down in Harry's bed, Ruth notices that the fear which had occupied her stomach for over a week had gone …... almost. There is still a niggle inside her, and she hopes it will show itself to her sooner, rather than later.


	7. Chapter 7

_**A/N: Parts of this chapter are based upon "Harry's Diary" (and thank you to NatesDate for sending me the relevant pages of this), but I have changed some of the details therein, just to ensure this chapter remains on track.**_

* * *

**~ Lebanon ~**

Two nights later, the Cotterdam fallout has been satisfactorily swept up and dealt with for the time being, but Ruth is spending the night alone, and at Harry's house. They have agreed she should stay there until Harry is free to come home.

This is to be the first of many nights she will spend with only Scarlet, Fidget, and Cat for company. The night previously – the night after Harry had been bashed by Mace's thugs – Harry had received a call from a man he'd not had cause to speak to in many years. He quickly left the living room to take the call.

When, around fifteen minutes later, he returned to the living room from the hallway, his face was drained of colour.

"That was Garth Henry. He's the service's man in Beirut. It's Catherine," he said. "She's been injured by a land mine, and she's in rather a bad way. I need to go to Lebanon on the next available flight."

"I'll book your flight, Harry, and you'd best pack your bags, but first, come here."

Ruth had spoken quickly, as though they were at work, and she was to be part of finding a solution to the problem at hand. Then, she'd held out her arms to Harry, and he had walked into her embrace. She held him while he sighed heavily, letting go of his pent up anxiety for his daughter. He had talked – chattering randomly – about Catherine. He had told her about how bright she'd been, right from when she was born, and how she was the one to find the stray kitten to bring home, or to make friends with the new girl in her class. She had been quiet when her parents had fought, ensuring her younger brother was taken upstairs when his and Jane's arguments escalated.

"She just wants the world to be a better place, Ruth. Isn't that what we all want?"

She had held him for a long time, and then she'd sent him upstairs to pack a bag, while she headed to his office to book his flight. That was 24 hours ago, and she'd only received one call from him since he'd landed in Lebanon.

"Ruth?" he'd said, once she'd answered her mobile. "I can't find her. She's with Hezbollah doctors ….. somewhere."

"You've spoken to someone?"

"Garth Henry met me at the airport. I've only spoken to him. He's the only contact I have with her, and he doesn't know where she is. Ruth." He'd breathed her name into the phone. "I wish you were with me. I'm not handling this very well."

"No-one expects you to. This is your only daughter. Of course you're upset. Have you rung Jane?"

"Yes. I rang her from the taxi on my way to the airport. She was …..."

"Upset?"

"More than. She was furious, but that's her default reaction whenever she's frightened."

For a brief moment, Ruth had experienced a deep pang of jealousy, to think that Harry still knew so much about the woman he had been married to twenty years ago. It was only a brief, but sharp, sting, and then she quickly calmed. He is with _her_ now, he has chosen _her_, and that is all that matters.

"Harry …..."

"Yes?"

"Do you want me to put someone on this? I don't know how easy – or even safe - it will be to access the records of Hezbollah hospitals …... but …..."

"I know that they are very well organised. They're transparent to a degree. I know I shouldn't be asking this, but could you get Malcolm to see what he can find?"

"I'll talk to him. Leave it with me. Currently, he's tracking the movements of a group of young Islamic men from Birmingham. It's an order from higher up. Perhaps he can …... I don't know, maybe he can do some digging from home. Harry?"

"Yes."

"Don't despair. I'll speak with Adam, and then Malcolm."

And she had. Both had been keen to help.

"Look at it this way," Adam had said. "The sooner Catherine is found, the sooner she can come back to England, and the sooner Harry can be back at work. You're not the only one who needs him, Ruth."

Adam had then walked off, leaving Ruth feeling – in turn – shocked, then worried, then outraged, and then proud. She'd taken a deep breath to steady herself, and then gone in search of Malcolm. Of course, he'd been in the technology suite.

"I can do a search from my home computer," he'd assured her. "We need Harry back here as soon as possible. I'm not sure it's wise for Adam to be at the helm for too long."

Silently, Ruth had agreed with him.

So, Ruth is sitting on the sofa in Harry's living room, Fidget sleeping on her lap, Cat and Scarlet curled up together on the hearth, while she watches a reality show on TV. It is almost 10 pm when Ruth's mobile phone rings, making it almost midnight in Beirut.

"Ruth, it's me." Harry's voice sounds tired.

"Any luck?" she asks.

"None at all. I'm beginning to despair."

"Honey, don't do that. It won't help." Ruth surprises herself by her use of the endearment. She and Harry have only ever call each other by their given names. "You need to sleep."

"I'm lying on my hotel bed now, wishing you were here with me."

"Where are you?"

"I'm in Beirut, but first thing in the morning, I intend getting a lift to Baalbek. Surely, there is someone there who knows where she is."

"Harry, can you not go anywhere until Malcolm has done a scan of the Hezbollah hospitals in Lebanon? He had to stay late at work, but he wanted to get on to it when he got home from work tonight. I'm staying up tonight, and won't go to bed until I hear from him."

"I almost hit a woman today. I'm only telling you that because …..."

"Because you feel guilty about it."

"Yes. It was Helen Nicholas – she's a British journalist in Lebanon, reporting on the war with the Israelis. She refused to listen to me, and then when she declared that in all likelihood Catherine was dead ... Ruth, I almost slapped her. I wanted to hit her. A _woman_. What is wrong with me?"

"You didn't hit her, though, did you?"

"No, but I really wanted to. She wasn't at all interested in what may have happened to Catherine."

"You were scared, Harry. You _are _scared. Honey, will you stay put? Don't go anywhere until you hear from me, and if, in the meantime, you discover Catherine's whereabouts, then let me know. Can you promise me that?"

"Alright." His voice conveys his frustration, his fear, and his exhaustion. "I like it when you call me honey."

"That's good, because you might be hearing it a lot in the future."

"I just have to keep a hold on my temper. Today …... all I was thinking was that someone is responsible for hurting my daughter, so I just wanted to hurt someone – anyone."

"That's understandable, Harry. Just lay low. Can you do that?"

"With difficulty, yes."

* * *

Ruth has decided to not wait up for Malcolm's call, when her phone rings. It is just after 1am.

"Ruth, I'm sorry to ring you so late, but I've only just found the information on Catherine Townsend. She's in Makassed Hospital in Beirut. It's on Ouzai Street. She was admitted under the name Catherine Hassan. The man who accompanied her is a Fabian Hassan. Is Catherine married to this man?"

"Not to my knowledge, nor Harry's, but she mentioned that she has someone in Beirut, so this could be him. I imagine that it's safer for her to use a non-European name."

"I agree. Do you want me to ring Harry?"

"No, Malcolm. I'll set my alarm, and ring him first thing in the morning. Were I to ring him now, he'd be off to the hospital in the middle of the night."

"Would that be such a bad thing?" Malcolm's voice is calm, careful, wary. "I'll ring him now. He may have questions, and I have the information."

"Very well. And Malcolm?"

"Yes?"

"Thank you for this. Harry has been in rather a bad way since he heard about Catherine's accident."

"Then, the sooner he learns where she is, the better. You know what Harry can be like."

Of course she does.

* * *

It is almost forty eight hours later that Ruth next hears from Harry. Knowing that he will be busy with Catherine, and that his daughter needs him far more than she does, Ruth keeps busy, staying on the Grid until 10pm each night. It is just after 9.30 on the second night after his call, that she again hears from him.

"Ruth?"

She can hear the energy and the excitement in his voice. She can also hear the hope. All he speaks is one word – her name, just one syllable – and she can read so much into the way he says that one word.

"Ruth, she'll be fine, and she'll keep her legs. When I arrived at the hospital two nights ago, Fabian – her partner – was distressed, because the doctors told him that without a blood transfusion, not only could she lose her legs, but her life was also in danger. I asked to give blood straight away. I knew our blood types are compatible, and so I've given two transfusions so far, and I might have to give more should they need to operate again. Ruth …..."

"Yes, Harry..."

"My little girl …... she'll be alright. She'll be able to walk again."

Ruth takes a deep breath to stop the tears which are close to the surface. She must not cry. Not now. Not when Harry is so happy.

"Harry, that's …... that's wonderful …... a miracle. Please give her my love, won't you?"

"I will, and …... Ruth ….."

"Yes?"

"I love you, and I miss you …... but I have to remain here until she's well enough to fly home."

"I know you do. Have you any idea how long?"

"At least three weeks. We'll fly home as soon as Catherine is well enough. We won't stay even another day. I can't wait to get home …... to you."

"I know. Oh - I almost forgot to tell you ... Oliver Mace resigned. As of yesterday, he is no longer a member of the JIC."

Ruth hears Harry's heavy sigh. "That's very good news," he says quietly.

"It is."

After they hang up, Ruth hangs her head, and wipes her eyes with the pads of her fingers. When she looks up, she sees Ros watching her from across the Grid. The older woman smiles, and Ruth recognises it is a genuine smile – with her eyes, as well as her mouth - and so Ruth returns it in kind. Clearly, Ros Myers has a heart, as well as a soul.

* * *

Three weeks later to the day, Harry, Catherine and Fabian are due to land at Heathrow at 8.05pm, but when she checks, Ruth discovers the flight to be running 50 minutes late. She is home – at Harry's house – happy, nervous, anxious, and the animals have picked up on her changes of mood. Cat is in a playful mood, and both Scarlet and Fidget have left the living room. When Ruth heads to Harry's bedroom to change out of her work clothes, she finds the two absent animals curled up on the end of the bed.

When, just after 9.30, her mobile phone text message tone sounds, she grabs her phone from the coffee table, and opens the message. _Have just landed. Be home within an hour. H xxx_

Ruth leans back in her armchair, and sighs heavily with relief. She is _so_ tired, after almost four weeks of early starts, and long evenings at work. She heads upstairs to ensure the bedroom is ready for Harry's return. She turns back the duvet on his side, and decides to pull off her slippers, and lie under the covers …... just for a moment's rest.

* * *

What Ruth doesn't know is that Jane Townsend is at Heathrow to meet her daughter, her daughter's partner, and her ex-husband. Harry is relieved when Jane's wide smile includes him as well as their daughter.

"It was a good thing you did, Harry," she whispers to him, after she'd greeted Catherine and Fabian.

"I'm her father. That's my job."

"Well …... I'm impressed." Jane's smile becomes brittle, an expression with which Harry is familiar. "You have another child, you know, and he's at my house, waiting to see his sister. You're welcome to come back to see him."

"But does he want to see me?"

"Before I left, he said he is open to it."

Harry stands and stares down at this woman …... a woman he'd once loved enough to imagine spending the rest of his life with her. "I'm expected at home tonight," Harry says quietly, "and equally, I want to get home ….. as soon as possible."

"Ahh …... the little woman. You're putting her ahead of your son?"

"For tonight I am, yes. I haven't seen her in almost four weeks."

"You haven't seen Graham in almost seven years."

Harry steps away before he says something which may escalate the situation. He quickly moves to Catherine's side, and talks quietly. "You have my mobile number, yes?"

Catherine nods, looking up into her father's eyes.

"Your mother wants me to go back with you to her place …... to see Graham. I need to get home to Ruth -"

"I know, and I accept that."

"Would you speak to your brother, and give him my phone number? I'd like to make arrangements directly with him, and keep your mother out of it."

"I agree. She enjoys a fight …... and her favourite opponent is still you. Aren't you lucky?"

"I don't want to fight with her any more, love. I can visit you on the weekend, or any weekend. Just ring me. Perhaps you and Fabian and Graham, and Ruth and I can meet somewhere other than at your mother's house."

"I told Graham about Ruth the day after I met her at your house. He's rather intrigued – as I was."

Harry reaches down and hugs his daughter, turns to Fabian to shake his hand, and acknowledges Jane with a brief smile, and a nod of his head, before he turns to leave the terminal, wearily pulling his bag behind him.

He needs to see Ruth.

* * *

Inside his house, all is dark, and for once, Scarlet doesn't run to greet him. He quietly mounts the stairs, leaving his luggage in the hallway. He heads straight to his bedroom, and there they all are, arranged in a tableau on his bed – the animals curled up together at the foot, and Ruth snuggled under the duvet, her arms wound around his pillow. He stands and watches them all. Only Scarlet acknowledges him. She lifts her head from her paws, and then very sedately jumps off the bed, and trots to his side, sitting on her haunches, as though awaiting orders. Harry picks her up, and gives her a scratch and a cuddle, and then puts her down on the floor.

"Harry?" Ruth's voice is bleary, as she turns to face him.

"Were it not me, you'd be in a bit of strife," he says, as he hurries to the bed to join Ruth.

Harry sits on the bed, and pulls Ruth towards him, burying his face in her hair.

"I'm sorry I've neglected you these past weeks," he whispers against her hair.

"You've had a very good reason."

"I know I have ….. but …... beginning now …..."

Ruth slowly lifts her head to look at him. "Beginning now?"

In the darkened room, Harry's eyes seem to glow, as he scans her face. _My lips are down here,_ she thinks, _between my nose and my chin_.

She need not have worried. He hasn't forgotten. When he kisses her, it is as though he will never stop.

* * *

_**A/N: Final chapter - an epilogue - up soon**_


	8. Epilogue

**_A/N__: Final chapter. M-ish at times, (and a bit of silliness, also). Once more, thanks to readers and reviewers._ **

* * *

**~ Homecoming ~**

By the time Harry has showered, and donned a fresh pair of trunks, Ruth has again fallen asleep, and the three animals are back in a furry huddle at the foot of the bed. He slides quietly into bed, and curves himself around Ruth's body, before falling asleep quickly, his mind free from worry.

Harry wakes to a pet-free bed, with a very warm and sweet-smelling Ruth snuggling against him, kissing his bare chest. He reaches out, and wraps both arms around her shoulders, pulling her against him.

"How long has it been?" he asks, his voice husky, his body responding in the usual way.

"Twenty eight days, and around seven hours …... not that I'm counting, of course."

"Our last night in Paris," he murmurs, clearly remembering.

Ruth pulls away from him, and lies beside him, watching him. With the fingers of one hand, she gently caresses his side, sending shivers through his whole body. Harry closes his eyes, trying to visualise his life before he and Ruth had been to dinner the first time. He had lived for days, weeks, months and years without so much as a woman's touch to his bare skin, and yet in the space of less than two months, here he is …... here _they_ are. He is a lucky man, and the improbability of this woman being attracted to him, much less loving him, has him wondering if this is even real.

"You're thinking," she says. "I can feel it. You go all still and quiet."

"Like you never think at all."

"Not at times like this. Not when we have two hours free before we have to leave for work."

They both breathe into the silence in the room, until Harry takes a breath before speaking.

"I was thinking …... about how lucky I am. I love a woman – a young and attractive woman – who, against all the laws of the universe and beyond, loves me back …... equally, and without reservation."

"I have had my share of reservations, Harry. I have had to give myself a severe talking to on many occasions."

"Since we were in Paris?"

"No, not since, but before, yes. Before we went to Paris, I'd wake in the morning, wondering was I mad, believing the things you were telling me. But then …... I'd recognise the voice of my inner critic and saboteur, and I'd just get on with it."

"Jane was at the airport to meet us."

"Good."

"Good?"

"You're not Catherine's only parent."

"Ruth, in all honesty, until quite recently, Jane has been her only parent. I had no choice but to go to Lebanon to find her -"

"I know that. Harry …... a year or so ago – even three months ago – I may have been confronted and overwhelmed by your family, and how they will always be part of you …... forever. I would have felt small and insignificant by comparison."

"Ruth -"

"No. Let me say this. It's important." Ruth turns her head so that their eyes meet. "You have made me see something about myself I'd not been able to see. You have shown me how important I am …... to you. I feel secure with you, Harry, and somehow ….. I don't know how …... you have done that for me. I know that one day I'll meet Jane …... and your son …... but I'll not be comparing myself to her, or wondering whether your son likes me or not. All that matters is here – you and me, and how we are together. Everyone else will have to deal with me being part of your life."

Harry's smile begins slowly, and then – uncharacteristically for him – it widens. He reaches across and kisses Ruth quickly, and then leans beside her, his weight on his elbow.

"That's good, because I suggested to Catherine that she and Fabian and Graham, and you and me meet some time soon …... away from Jane's house. Were we to meet there, she'd take charge, and make it all about her. While Catherine was in hospital, we talked a lot. Jane's relationship – the one she went into when I left – broke up around six months ago. When she found out about you and me, she was not pleased. In her mind, she deserves happiness with someone, while I deserve to suffer for the rest of my life. There was a time when I too believed that, but …... not any more."

"That's good."

"It is, isn't it?"

Harry smiles again, and allows Ruth to pull his head down, so that she can kiss him.

"No more talking this morning, Harry," she says. "We have other things to catch up on."

"Like what?"

"What do you think?"

"Stocking the larder …... cleaning the bathroom …... shampooing the dog …..."

"All very important, I'm sure, but …... there's something even more important needs doing …... and now would be nice."

Harry then performs rather a smooth manoeuvre (even if he does think so himself) in which he rolls on to his back, and brings Ruth with him, so that she lies over him, covering him with her body. He wears only a pair of trunks, while she wears one of his t-shirts over a pair of knickers. He knows about the knickers, because his hand has moved up the back of her thigh, until he is able to slide two fingers under the elastic, seeking her heat. Were he being selfish, he'd have pushed her on to her back, and he'd be inside her by now. He is hard, and when Ruth wriggles – as she is now doing, her pubic bone pressing against his erection – he has to think of the Grid, and terrorists, and the meeting he'll have to run when they get to work …... anything other than what is about to happen in this bed.

Ruth enjoys the gentle touch of his fingers, as they explore inside her underwear. She also enjoys the feel of him – all of him - beneath her body. She is thankful he has no trouble getting hard. She watches him, his eyes closed, his breath coming in short gasps. Poor Harry. Just this once, further foreplay seems rather cruel. When he sinks two fingers inside her, and begins moving them inside her, Ruth's sudden gasp has him opening his eyes, smiling up at her. _Cheeky sod_.

When Harry removes his fingers, and then slides her underwear down, Ruth sits up, straddling his body, and removes the t-shirt, flinging it on the floor. All that remains is his trunks, and Harry shoves them over his hips, and his feet do the rest.

Ruth takes charge. She has never before been quite this bold with Harry. After all, he has a reputation, much of which, he has assured her, is little more than urban myth. She has not found him to be arrogant, or dominant in bed. He is skilled, but he does not show off. He pays attention to her, and he meets her needs. What more could she want? She lifts herself in preparation to guiding him inside her, and then she slowly begins riding him. Ruth almost forgets to watch her lover as she moves on top of him. She feels his finger lift her chin, and she smiles into those beautiful eyes, as he lifts his hips to meet her.

Afterwards, they roll on to their sides, and lie together, gasping for air. They pull apart a little, their heads on separate pillows, while their breathing steadies. Eventually, Ruth feels Harry's hand grasp her own, and he squeezes her hand between his fingers. Harry does not say much during love-making, and he only ever vocalises during orgasm. She has learned – by necessity – to stay silent until he is ready to talk. In her past relationships, this would have left her feeling inadequate, even rejected. With Harry, this is the way he is, and she must give him time to come back close to her after they have made love.

Eventually, he rolls on to his side, and slides his arms around her.

"You almost killed me then," he says.

"At least it was almost. Had I killed you, I'd now have some explaining to do."

Harry chuckles quietly against her temple. "Imagine your police interview. _Ms Evershed, what exactly were you doing when Mr Pearce expired? I was riding him, officer, like a bucking bronco it was, and then he just …... gasped his last ….. but he was smiling as he died. So, Ms Evershed, what were his last words? I can't be sure, but I think he mentioned God. Religious man, was he? Only when he came, officer._"

Ruth laughs gently, and taps his shoulder with her fingers.

"You're a bad man, Harry."

"Only a few minutes ago, you were telling me how good I am."

"Stop it. You're making me blush." He gently kisses her forehead, and then wraps his arms tighter around her, while they settle under the duvet. They have twenty minutes until Harry's alarm will sound.

* * *

"This is it," Harry says, as they approach the pods together. "We're entering the Grid together for the first time. Are you ready?"

She nods, and steps into the pod beside him. Then they step out together, but Ruth stays back, standing just behind Harry's shoulder.

Jess and the workaholic Tyson look up, but then look down again. Malcolm sees them from across the Grid, and nods. Harry turns to Ruth, and lifts his eyebrows.

"They're being polite, Harry," Ruth says.

But then, Jo spies them, and heads towards Harry, and Zaf follows.

"Good to have you back, Harry," Jo says, lightly touching Harry's forearm with her fingers.

"We missed you," Zaf says, from behind Jo.

Ruth stands a few yards away, and watches, as each member of his team greets Harry. She can see by the body language of each one how much they care for him, and want to touch him. Adam steps up, and shakes Harry's hand.

"Good thing you're here, Harry. It's the Syrians."

"Again?" Harry replies.

"Still. They never give us a break."

Sylphlike, Ros Myers appears, standing between Harry and the door to his office.

"Harry ….. when you've finished all that pastoral care crap, there are things you need to know, and decisions to be made. When you're ready, I'll be in your office, but some time today would be good."

Harry nods in her direction, and just before he joins she and Adam in his office, he turns to catch Ruth's eye. They exchange a brief smile, before Ruth turns and heads towards her desk, and then Harry joins Adam and Ros in his office. Within minutes, it is as though he was never away.

_Fin_


End file.
